At night, they occupy like stout women
with hands of stone over their chests
they set the stumps of roads, hiding
the infinte hope of a return.

In abscence, the children mature within
valleys, mute. (Down there they call them
sails–or battlements. In the morn, the earth seems
blue and red to them). Now, at a distance, collapse
steps over gravel, large pebbles
hoist themselves between their shoulders.
The sky ‘Heaven’ beats white eyelashes
in gasps.

Mothers. They rise up before them, veer away
from the vast eyes become branches of the stars:
await an Aurora at the cliff, should it be born
at the extreme edge.

Recently, I was asked to take part in a modest translation project. I’ve always been awed by the ‘variables’ of how and what translation does among the literary experience of writing, reading, relating. In the following 5 poems, I attempt to transcribe-translate poems of Antonia Pozzi. (1912-1938) Her story is a fascinating one. Her large body of works published posthumously.

Forest Dream

Underneath a fir
for an entire day–asleep
the last sky is seen
from the bottom of an intricate tangle
of distant branches.

At night
a Doe
emerging from the thick
designs
of small ornaments–the snow
and at dawn
the birds
crazed
furious
for songs in the wind.

I underneath
the fir(s)
in peace
as if a thing belonging to earth
like a tuft of heather
burnt ice